Romanceing the Pizza: the short north--pizza?

She said it would only take a second. I was game. Its so hard to refuse her when she looks in to my eyes. She promised beer, snacks, and a lack of deutche-bags because it was a Tuesday. I caved the minute she asked.


The place was crawling with professional-men, that couldn't even take their tie off on the way to the bar, scenesters, bikedudes, and hip-hop dudes. Everyone had their respective looks down perfectly. It was loud, but I could hear only her voice. Nothing she said mattered to me. I wanted to make out. She wanted pizza. I can never refuse pizza, even at a hellhole like this.

That was no pizza. It was called "Chicken Tandadori Something Something." What the fuck? It was small--one size fits all. I guess they are meant for people to eat while nursing their vodka and cocaines-weight watchers, you know. I was still hungry. She ordered nachos, even they came with straws.
In the short north they won't make you pizza--they'll make you a flatbread.